


And Here We Go.

by peachchild



Series: Second Star to the Right [6]
Category: Peter Pan (1953), The Hobbit RPF
Genre: AND ALSO FEELINGS REGARDING SEX, AND ALSO SEX, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, DEAN AND AIDAN STRUGGLE WITH FEELINGS, IT'S ALL VERY COMPLICATED, M/M, THIS THING IS A HOT MESS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex with a Lost Boy can be complicated. They do their best to work it out.</p><p>Coda for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/895801">Anything in Life</a>. You might want to read that first!</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Here We Go.

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is, I think, the last installment of Second Star to the Right! (At least for a while!) And it's like, 75% sex/talking about sex, so there's that. I don't know if it really qualifies as porn, but whatever. It's also a hot mess. Don't judge it too severely.
> 
> So I want to thank everyone who's read all the parts of this series, and especially Kendra because pretty much everything past "Straight On Till Morning" is directly her fault. But it's been amazing, and I'll be around the fandom and everything, and I'm excited to start writing other stuff with these wonderful boys! <3
> 
> [This song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPbYFL5h9UQ) and I were BFFs during the writing of this.

“How old are you really?” 

Aidan hummed a question in the back of his throat, not quite ready to make his voice work. His eyes drooped, stiff at the edges with sleep, and Dean touched his thumb to his cheekbone, leaned in to press their mouths together, because Aidan was going back to Neverland tonight, and who knew when he would wake up beside him again? 

Aidan lifted his head so he could lick his way into Dean’s mouth, his fingers sliding into his hair, and Dean pressed his hips into the bed, because he couldn’t ask anything of Aidan, but it didn’t stop him from _wanting_. He pulled away so he could repeat the question, but Aidan didn’t give him a chance. “I dunno. We don’t really celebrate birthdays in Neverland.” He pressed his tongue to the corner of Dean’s mouth, drawing him back into the kiss, and Dean ran a hand down the column of his throat, rubbed his thumb over his adam’s apple, felt his blood pulsing. 

“Do you know what year you were born?”

Aidan hummed again, an affirmation, as Dean dipped his head to suck a kiss below his ear. “I saw my birth certificate once, at the social services office. My birthday is June 19, 1979.”

Dean huffed a laugh against his skin. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re older than me.”

“I’m not.” 

“You are. By five years.” Dean laced their fingers, nuzzled their noses in an eskimo kiss. “That makes you, what, 33?”

“Dunno. I’ve never thought about it.”

“You don’t even know what year it is?”

“It doesn’t really matter in Neverland.” Aidan shrugged. “It matters here, because you’re here, and you look older every time I visit.” He slid his arm around Dean’s shoulder, and Dean noted to himself, that if they were standing, they would be in a waltz position. 

He wrinkled his nose. “Thanks for that.”

“Not in a bad way. Just like I’m missing things.” 

“That happens when you wait almost a year between visits.”

“I told you, it’s easy to lose track of time in Neverland.”

Dean hummed. Aidan nosed at his cheek until he kissed him again. 

* * * 

Aidan forgets his 34th birthday, but Dean doesn’t, so he makes him breakfast and they set out to spend the day on the beach. Aidan is fond of the beach, because he relishes sunshine and takes joy in the salty smell of the ocean, the squish of sand between his toes. The sun shines hot on the car, and Aidan leans out the window, Dean’s favorite pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. He sings along to the Nicki Minaj songs playing through the speakers, since Adam is a terrible influence and burned him a copy of one of her CDs. 

Dean’s ribs hurt from laughing. “You cursing is ridiculous.” 

“Why?” Aidan grins at him. “You don’t like ‘fuck’ when I say it?”

The problem, of course, is that Dean likes it probably a little more than he should. “You know I do.”

Aidan leans against him, wraps his arms around his middle and presses his lips to his jaw. He smells like sunshine and hot wind. “Well, then, what’s the problem?”

“Aidan, I will pull this car over.”

“Won’t you?” 

“Tease.”

“Not even a little.” He pulls Dean’s earlobe between his teeth, and Dean bats him off, laughing. Aidan sticks his tongue out and cranks the radio up, poking his head out the window again, his curls ruffling in the breeze. He shouts out the lyrics to “Starship,” and yells, “Like a motherfucker!” so loudly that Dean worries they’ll be stopped, but mostly he’s so happy, he doesn’t care.

* * * 

Aidan spends the day dragging Dean into the water and getting sunburned because he, as usual, refuses to put sunblock on his shoulders, and scraping sand into piles that are possibly supposed to resemble a sandcastle but mostly look like a three-year-old was digging in the sand, and curling up against Dean’s side on the blanket to kiss the taste of salt water and beer out of his mouth and make the other beachgoers uncomfortable. 

The sun sets sherbet-bright and swimmers and surfers and loungers begin the slow bundle-up and trudge back to their cars. Aidan collapses on sand still bleeding warmth from the sun and happily accepts the kisses Dean presses to his hot skin. He sucks Aidan off in the near-darkness, with a hand on his stomach and Aidan’s fingers in his hair, and he ends up with sand gritting his teeth and Aidan’s laughter sharp in his ears.

He sleeps all the way home, his head pressed against the window, and Dean has to prod him up the stairs to their flat. Aidan whines about his sunburn and passes out in their bed, and if he wasn’t sure already, Dean would know now that he’s in love, because he wants to spend the rest of his life rubbing aloe on Aidan’s shoulders.

* * * 

At first, they tiptoed around sex.

Well, Dean did. Aidan has never exactly been sure how to tiptoe; he crashes into everything. The difference with sex was that his complete lack of experience meant a lot of misdirection; he wasn’t quite sure where he was aiming. 

And then one night, he figured out his aim, because he was cornering Dean, penning him in against the counter in the bathroom and staring hard at him. Dean raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror and, around his toothbrush, said, “Can I help you?”

“I need to ask you a question, and I’m not sure how you’re going to respond to it.”

Dean leaned over to spit in the sink. “Alright. One generally _asks_ the question in order to find out the response.”

“Stop being a smartass. I need you to be serious.”

“Okay. I am being serious. I am the most serious.” He rinsed out his mouth and dropped his toothbrush in its cup by the sink, then turned to lean against the counter, giving Aidan his attention. “Ask away.” 

“I was talking to Adam yesterday...”

“No. No, no, no. Nothing good ever comes out of you talking to Adam.”

“Dean. You promised serious.”

“I am being serious! Seriously alarmed that whatever you’re about to tell me has to do with Adam.” Dean nudged his way past him, catching his hand as he went and tugging him into the bedroom. He dragged him down onto the bed beside him. “Alright. What were you talking to Adam about?”

Aidan sits with his legs crisscross, frowning down at Dean. “Are you going to take me seriously?”

“ _Aidan_.”

“ _Well_?”

“Yes. I am listening. I promise.” Dean propped his arm behind his head. “Come on. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Aidan picked at his thumbnail. “I was talking to Adam and he asked if we’ve had sex.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think that’s really any of Adam’s business.”

“He wasn’t being nosy,” Aidan assured him. “I started it. I asked how it was, with him and Graham. I was sort of curious. So he asked.”

“And what did you say?”

“That we had.” Dean’s shoulders relaxed. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well.” Aidan shifted his weight to one knee, unfolded his legs. He pulled his knee up, hugged it. “I just know that... you do a lot for me. But you’ve never let me return the favor.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I like making you feel good.”

“It’s important to me though. I want us to be equal in this. I want to be able to make you feel good too. Is there a reason you haven’t let me?”

Dean chewed on his lip. “Look. There’s just a lot to sex, alright? A lot of things you can’t possibly know or understand about it, because you haven’t done them yet.”

Aidan’s eyebrows drew together. “And how exactly am I supposed to learn all these things if I’m not allowed to do them?”

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to do them.”

“Are you sure? Because what it sounds like is, ‘Hey, Aidan, I still see you as a child, and I don’t want to have sex with you.’”

“Hey, that’s not okay.” Dean sat up, pushed his back up against the headboard. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me, Dean. All these things I need to know.”

“Alright.” Dean sighed, scratched his hands through his hair. “What do you want to know?”

Aidan stared at him, clearly unprepared to be put in charge of the conversation. He pulled his lip between his teeth. “It’s not like I don’t know the mechanics of everything. I mean. I know how it all works.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, eyebrows drawing together. 

Dean took pity on him, because he put him in this position in the first place. He sat up straight, mirrored Aidan’s position. Their knees touched. “Sex is overwhelming,” he said quietly. “Especially at first, when it’s all new. And each person is different; no two experiences are the same.” He nosed affectionately at Aidan’s cheek, and Aidan did his very best not to smile, but ended up doing so anyway. “For example, I usually am not especially fond of going down on my partners, but I _love_ sucking you off. I love your cock - how it tastes and smells and feels in my mouth.”

Aidan retained one beautiful thing, amongst many things, from his days as a Lost Boy: he never outgrew that boyish lack of modesty. He petted Dean’s cheek with his fingertips. “What makes it so good?”

“Mostly that it’s yours.” Dean grinned. “But it’s sexy to me, in a way blowjobs usually aren’t.” 

Aidan kissed him. “What about fingering?” he asked quietly. “What does that feel like?”

“Well, if your partner’s doing it well, it should be fucking wonderful. But not everyone likes it.” 

“Do you?”

“I do,” Dean confirmed. “Hopefully, when you feel ready for that, if you ever do, I’ll be good enough at it to make it feel good for you.”

“Does it feel the same as a cock?”

Dean did his best to pretend that hearing _cock_ said so cavalierly by Aidan didn’t send all his blood pooling low in his belly. He rocked his head side to side, waffling. “It feels similar. Having someone actually inside of you is much more intense. Fingers are a little less... solid.”

“Sounds like it could hurt.”

“It does, a bit. At first. But it starts to feel better if you’re patient and your partner takes care of you.”

Aidan nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

Dean blinked. “That’s it?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have any other questions?”

“Not right now.” Aidan lifted a shoulder, dropped it. “I _like_ the idea of having sex with you, Dean. I’m not nervous or scared, even with you trying to make me scared.” He cupped his face in his hands and kissed him before he could protest. “Now do me a favor.”

“Yes?”

“It might take a little while, but I’m patient.” He raised his eyebrows, held Dean’s gaze. “I need _you_ to be ready for me to be ready. Because I am. Whenever you are.” 

He leaned back, then very deliberately fell over onto his side, head against the pillow, and just like that, the conversation was over.

* * * 

Aidan’s arms slide over Dean’s shoulders, his hands running down his chest. He smiles against his ear. “You’re painting me.”

“Mmm?” Dean scrubs oils from between his fingers with a rag, leans back into Aidan. “How do you know? I could be painting anybody.”

“No. You only use these colors for me.” Aidan points with his pinky, traces the edge of the person taking shape on the canvas. “Yellows and reds. I get all the sunset colors.” 

“Sun _rise_ colors,” Dean corrects gently, tipping his head back to look at him. “You’re not purple enough for sunset.”

Aidan waves a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re still painting me. Don’t you have enough paintings of me?”

“Unfortunately, no. You could do me a favor and stop being my muse any day.” He spins on his stools, draws Aidan between his legs. “What’re you doing here anyway? I thought you and Adam were seeing a movie.”

“We were, but Graham’s ill, and Adam didn’t want to leave him home alone. So I thought I’d come visit you.” He curls his fingers in Dean’s shirt, kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry I interrupted. You want me to go out front until you’re through? I’m sure I can find some prints to organize or negatives to sort.”

“No, studio’s closed. That means we _don’t_ have to work today.” He pulls him down to kiss him. “And I’m not getting much further with this right now. My muse has clearly been too far away.”

“Let me fix that.” 

“You are being _very_ forward today.”

“I just want you.” Aidan smiles at him. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.” 

Dean lets himself be pulled from his stool to the pile of blankets and pillows he keeps in the corner for what he will happily admit is just this purpose. Aidan drags him down into the nest, curling his hand around the back of his neck and licking his way into his mouth in a way he _knows_ gets Dean from his neck to his toes. They’re lazy about it, because they have no reason not to be, and by the time Dean presses his fingers into him, and Aidan arches his back and punches his hands back against the pillows, the column of his throat smooth like the fall of sand, Dean feels sweat cooling the back of his neck, curling in his hair, his breaths shallow.

Dean rubs his fingers deep into him, and Aidan keens. “You’re going to make me come,” he warns, and it’s half a complaint, and Dean grins.

“That’s kind of the idea.” 

It’s also not terribly difficult, because Aidan loves to be fingered. Dean teases him sometimes, on those days when they can’t seem to leave their bed, when they speak with voices low and raspy, that Aidan could come just _thinking_ about being fingered, and Aidan almost always proves it by moaning deep in his chest and lifting his hips. Dean, probably unfairly, uses this against him more often than he hopes Aidan notices.

Now, of course, he notices. His fingers curl around Dean’s shoulder. “No, you’re doing that thing again.” He pushes him away, just hard enough to send him toppling onto his back. 

Dean goes willingly. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, his hands framing Aidan’s hips when he settles on top of him. “You just make it so easy.” 

“I’m just irresistible.” 

“And I’m not?”

“Well, I came all the way down here just so I could ride you on the floor of your studio, so what does that tell you?”

Dean groans. Aidan grins. 

“That’s what I thought.” And then he balances himself with one hand against Dean’s sternum and guides Dean’s cock with his other. 

Dean smooths his hands down over his thighs, presses his fingers into muscles tense with concentration. Aidan’s eyebrows are drawn low, his eyes closed, head tipped back and Dean lifts a hand to frame his throat, and Aidan swallows. Outside the open window, cars surge past, breeze the curtains in against them. “Breathing?” he asks him quietly.

Because sometimes Aidan forgets. He’s retained some things from his days - weeks, months, years - as a Lost Boy, and one of them is this tendency to dive headfirst into things without thinking about how long he can hold his breath, and an anxious part of Dean still believes, despite all of their talks and care and the slow speed at which they moved forward, that sex in general falls into this category. Aidan’s fingers curl against his chest, a slow drag of nails against his skin that focuses Dean. 

“Yes,” Aidan says, on a breath, like he’s proving a point, and he smiles, a quirk of the left side of his mouth, like the rest of his face hasn’t quite caught up. “Are you?”

“Mostly.” Dean leans up on his elbows. “Come on. I thought you’d come with a very specific purpose in mind.” 

“Yes.” Aidan gives an experimental roll of his hips. “That purpose is, of course, to make _you_ come.”

Dean laughs, drops back against the pillows. “I can’t decide if your dirty talk is terrible or incredibly hot.” 

“Incredibly hot.” Aidan nods, matter-of-fact. His pace is slow, practiced, because they both know that the solid, agonizing drag of Dean’s cock inside of him sets them both trembling before too long. “Because you secretly still see a teenager when you look at me. You still see Lost Boy Aidan.”

“Not true.” Dean runs his hands along Aidan’s ribs, palms over his nipples.

“It is. At least a little bit. But it’s okay.” There is already a flush creeping up Aidan’s neck. “Because, when you’re not worried about everything, you think it’s hot.” He lifts himself up, his hands bracketing Dean’s body, rocks back down onto his cock, expels a little gasp at the feeling, and Dean tries not to be terribly endeared by the fact that his long legs folded in close makes him look a little like a baby deer. “You think it’s hot that I came to be with you, and you are the only person who has ever touched me, who has ever made me come, and you’re the only person who ever will.”

Dean feels the words like a punch to his stomach, and before he can really process what he’s doing, Aidan is staring up at him with wide eyes, and he is hooking Aidan’s leg over his hip and _fucking_ him with deep, hard thrusts that leave sweat beading at the corner of his eyes and the top of his lip, and Aidan’s fingers press bruise-hard against his back, marking his shoulder blades, holding him against him. 

Dean curls his fingers into Aidan’s hair and kisses him like a soldier off to war, like an expeditionist in uncharted territory, like a man sending a Lost Boy back to Neverland, and Aidan whimpers when Dean pushes his legs further open and jolts into him until he’s coming inside of him, and when he thinks about how no one has ever done _this_ before either, not with Aidan, he groans and drops his head to Aidan’s collarbone, heaves in air that seems to have grown heavier. 

Aidan runs his fingers through his hair, and Dean can feel them trembling against his scalp. “See?” he manages playful, a grin in his voice even now, when they’re both close to crumbling. “Told you you think it’s hot.”

Dean pulls out while he still can think about things like that. He doesn’t look at Aidan, because he’s not sure he can yet, but he kisses his way down his chest and stomach, pausing at every dip and curve, licking his way along the scar beneath his ribs, until he can suck the head of his cock into his mouth and curl his hand around him. Aidan is quiet, aside from the soft pants, the strangled whimpers, and he comes with his fingers in Dean’s hair. 

After a long time of quiet, with Dean’s head on Aidan’s stomach and Aidan lazily tracing patterns on his back, they somehow find a creaking energy with which to clean up. Aidan goes to make coffee, and Dean tucks a blanket under his arms around himself and props himself against the wall with his sketchbook, letting the _scritch_ of pencil against the paper soothe the hiss and sizzle of his blood. Aidan sits leaves a cup of coffee at his side, carefully out of the way of stray elbows, and curls up against his side, his head on his shoulder, and watches.

Usually, the scrutiny would make Dean uncomfortable, self-conscious, but it’s Aidan, and Aidan sees everything, even when Dean doesn’t particularly want him to. “That’s you!” Aidan points out, a little unnecessarily, because of course Dean knows that, but he understands the surprise anyway. “Have you ever drawn yourself before?”

“When I was younger. Art classes. They always demand self-portraits.” Dean shrugs. “They make me feel weird. You either look terribly insecure because you draw or paint yourself not quite as good-looking as you are, or you look like a prick because you look better than you do in real life.”

Aidan kisses his bare shoulder. “That’s us together, right? You’re drawing us here.” 

“Mmm,” Dean confirms distractedly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“I don’t mean physically.” 

“I know.” Dean slaps the sketchbook against his legs. “You called me on my bullshit. I need that every once in a while.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to do. And if it hurt you...”

Dean cups his face in his hand. Aidan returns his kiss easily, if not a little hesitantly. “You didn’t hurt me,” he says quietly. “It’s true. I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I’ve demanded that you grow up, even though you’re already a grown-up, but at the same time, I like sort of being...”

“My daddy?”

Dean is horrified. “Oh, my god, _no_.”

Luckily, Aidan is laughing, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, and Dean thinks vaguely that his age is catching up to him in some ways, beyond his ridiculous height and the leanness of his body, and he sort of adores him for it. “You’re such an asshole.” 

“I know.” Aidan beams at him. “But I’m not the one walking around here like a burrito.”

“What?”

“With the blanket.”

Dean blinks down at himself. “How does that make me an asshole?”

“Because I know you’re naked under there, and you’re not letting me in to enjoy it.” He picks at the edge of the blanket until Dean opens it so Aidan can press in beside him. 

“Oy, you’re still in your pants. This blanket burrito is a no-clothes zone.”

Aidan huffs and wiggles out of them, dropping them pointedly on the floor before snuggling in close again. “Now back to the matter at hand.”

“What matter is that?”

“That I love you, even though you’re an asshole.” 

Dean’s insides warm. “Back at you, babe.”

* * * 

Dean knew that, realistically, Aidan had to be attracted to other people at some point. He also knew that the likelihood that he was going to turn into a crazy jealous kraken monster was pretty high - or would be if he let himself think about that possibility in even the slightest regard. 

Of course, when Richard came into the picture, it sort of threw a wrench into the whole pretending-it-wasn’t-a-possibility deal. 

Right now, he was standing in the kitchen, listening to Aidan talk and talk and talk about him, and his hands were so tight around his mug that his fingers had started aching, and then had gone completely numb. 

“Just - a _Lost Boy_ , Dean!” Aidan laughed around a mouthful of crisps. “I mean, who would have guessed, you know? That you know more than one Lost Boy. I mean, the circumstances are a little different, obviously, since he wasn’t there very long at all, came back straightaway. Which makes sense - he’s not really Peter’s type. Well, Peter doesn’t really have a type. More like, Peter wasn’t Richard type.”

“How do you know what Richard’s type is?”

Aidan blinked at him. “Well. I don’t mean type like _that_. Just type like - the kind of people they spend time with. Richard isn’t off-the-cuff enough to be a Lost Boy. Sort of like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Your feet are on the ground a bit more. But I could _see_ the pixie dust. You can only see it on someone when they’ve been to Neverland, you know? It was so nice to meet someone else who’s known Peter. You know, he wants to take me to see the Peter Pan Museum? I didn’t even know there was one here.”

“Sounds like a date.”

Aidan went still, looked up at him with his eyebrows drawn low. “What?”

Dean shrugged, turned to dump his cold tea down the drain in an effort not to make eye contact. “It sounds like he’s asked you on a date. And you’ve accepted.”

“Don’t be silly. He knows I’m with you.”

“Does he?”

Aidan didn’t answer. 

Dean sighed, rolled his shoulders back. “Aid, it’s okay if you like him.” He tried his very best to tell himself he believed that. “It happens. We’re going to look at other people and find them attractive or interesting or whatever. That’s natural.”

“So why are you being so weird about it?” Aidan leaned back in his chair, folded his arms tight across his chest, defensive. 

Part of him was stung that Aidan didn’t deny it. He swallowed that down, because hypocrisy will not reign in this conversation. “It doesn’t mean I have to feel good about it. Or not hurt. Especially since you two have been spending a lot of time together, and you’ve been talking about him a lot.”

“I don’t get upset when Emmett’s around.”

“I don’t spend time one-on-one with Emmett,” he pointed out. “Because I’m aware we have history, and that it would make you uncomfortable.” 

“You never told me that my spending time with Richard made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m telling you _now_.”

“You’re not being fair.”

“I’m not telling you you can’t hang out with him.” Dean threw his hands up, let them fall to smack against his thighs. “I’m not even telling you you can’t hang out with him alone. I’m just telling you how I’m feeling. I thought that’s what people did in relationships.” 

“Stop getting defensive! You’re not making it particularly easy to talk to you.”

“ _I’m_ getting defensive? I just told you how I’m feeling and you threw Emmett in my face!” Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair. “God, we weren’t even in a relationship, for Christ’s sake.”

“Oh, I see, so you just fucked him.”

“So what if I _did_?” He spread his hands, helpless. “You were still choosing Neverland over me then.” 

“Don’t put that on me!”

“I had no idea you even _wanted_ to be with me. Why should I feel guilty for sleeping with someone I was attracted to and who made me happy?”

“Well, how do you know Richard might not make me happy?”

The kitchen went completely silent for almost a minute as they stared at each other. Dean wasn’t completely sure which of them looked more surprised that Aidan had just said that. Aidan’s eyes were saucer-wide, his lips parted. He took a breath to speak, but Dean pushed himself off the counter. “I think,” he started slowly. He licks his lips, swallowed and tried again. “I’m going to go… out, for a while.” 

“Dean…”

He held his hand up, closed his eyes. “Just. Just let me - I’ll be back, okay? Later. I’ll be back later.” 

* * * 

Aidan begged. “It can be my birthday presents for like, five years!” he suggested. “One big trip and I will never ask you for anything ever again.” 

Of course, Dean was pretty much completely unable to say no to that, even though he knew it was pretty much total bullshit, so for the next two years, they saved and they scrimped, and they somehow scrounged up enough money to spend a week at Walt Disney World. 

They arrive in the evening on the 30th of November, and collapse in bed as soon as they’re checked into their hotel because a total of 21 hours of plane travel is not conducive to sleep. Of course, Aidan sets an alarm for midnight, which startles Dean awake and pretty much has him sobbing within a minute. “I was dreaming about never waking up, Aidan,” he complains. “It was the most beautiful dream.”

“Sorry.” Aidan looks only vaguely apologetic, and he touches his knuckles to Dean’s cheek. “I just needed to talk to you.” 

“Mmm. About what?”

“I wanted to tell you that I love you. And that I’ve never loved anyone else ever. Which I know isn’t saying much since I spent the majority of my life in Neverland.” He leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “But it holds. I’m sorry for every bullshit thing I’ve put you through over the last - what? - three years? And I’m sorry for making you wait. I always figured you would wait, which wasn’t fair, but you did, which I’m so happy about because you’re the only thing worth having, on this side of Neverland or that one.” 

Dean touches his ribs, eyes burning, but otherwise wide awake. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks quietly.

“Well.” Aidan shrugs. “This is the biggest adventure we’ve gone on so far. And I remember you saying you would love me whether we went on adventures for the rest of our lives or settled down and got fat.” He beams proudly when Dean laughs. “And someday, I would love to settle down and get fat with you. But for now. This is perfect. And I love you.” He kisses him again, and Dean lifts his head off the pillow to kiss him back. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean laughs. “You remembered.”

“Hey, I only forgot that first year,” Aidan points out. “And it wasn’t forgetting so much as… forgetting to ask when it was. But Adam reminded me.” 

“Good of him,” Dean teases. 

They’re quiet for a while, with Aidan’s head tucked up under Dean’s chin, verging on the edge of sleep. “You never regret choosing me?” Dean asks softly.

“Hmm?” Aidan murmurs sleepily, burrowing into Dean’s arms.

“I mean. All the times you’ve chosen me - with Neverland and Richard and whatever else - you’ve never looked back and wondered if you chose right?”

Aidan doesn’t answer for long enough that Dean thinks he’s asleep. Then, as he’s pulling the blankets up around them and settling in again: “Never.”


End file.
